


Dodi Li

by TheResurrectionist



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batdad, Cockblocking, Domestic Fluff, Gen, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Vacations gone wrong, batfamily, but only in the best of ways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 03:17:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11050176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheResurrectionist/pseuds/TheResurrectionist
Summary: A moment later he has Bruce’s shirt off, and the other man has a hand down the front of his pants. They’re breathing heavily, arching against each other with cut-off moans, which is the excuse Clark uses for not hearing the patio door.“Um.”He and Bruce freeze, awkwardly positioned on the couch. Across the room, by the entrance to the kitchen, is a very confused-looking Jason. He has his finger by the lightswitch, an empty glass in his other hand.“I was just, uh…getting some water...” Jason swallows nervously, averting his eyes. “You know what, I’m sure Tim can make some out of saltwater, or something. I’m just gonna...go…”Or, the one where Bruce and Clark vacation with the batkids, everything goes wrong, and Clark is just trying to propose to his boyfriend, okay?





	Dodi Li

**Author's Note:**

> I got back on the superbat fluff wagon. Oh boy. As always, I hope you enjoy the (slightly longer than usual) story! 
> 
> Translation:  
>  _Dodi li va'ani lo_ : my beloved is mine, and I am [his.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NzMxUMCQMIU)

Clark loves Bruce's kids.

In the same vein, this means he has a hard time saying _no_ to Bruce's kids.

Normally, this isn't much of a problem-most of the time, their requests of Bruce's new-ish boyfriend are pretty tame. Clark sits through a half dozen movie nights, school plays, and nerf gun fights with a broad smile on his face.

He embraces the idea of being present in their lives, whether it's Stephanie's play, helping with Tim's homework, or calming down Damian from yet another temper tantrum. When Bruce isn't there, he's the cool dad-the one who lets things slide, just a little.

_Yes, you can play with Bruce's grappling belt, but only if you put it away before he gets home. No, I'm not flying you to school, but I'll take you around the backyard later tonight if you ask nicely. Damian, stop hitting your brother. Please._

A year and a half into this relationship, and this kind of closeness feels right. Domestic, or as close as two JL founders can get in a household full of superheroes. Come morning, amid the chaos, he'll walk downstairs to find Bruce sitting at the kitchen table, the newspaper unfolded in front of him.

Damian will be yelling, probably at Tim; Dick will be teasing the tiniest Wayne, poking at Jason with the end of his spoon. Stephanie will be smiling at Cass, who's throwing napkin bits at Tim's head when he's not looking, getting them stuck in his dark curls.

Alfred will set down breakfast, resolute, and the chaos only increases tenfold.

And Bruce will look up, dark circles under his eyes, and _smile,_ a little half-grin that makes his heart ache, every goddamned morning.

 _This is ours,_ that smile says, and Clark will sit down next to his boyfriend, and get absolutely nothing but grunts out of the sleep-deprived man for at least an hour.

He'll steal toast instead, separating the batkids before bloodshed occurs across Alfred's waffles.

The point is, that ache in his chest has only been getting worse. Sometimes, Bruce isn't even there when it happens-he'll be at the office, or some pretentious meeting, and Clark will be tip-toeing through the Manor, and it'll just _hit_ him, all of a sudden.

There's toys in their bedroom, smears of jam on his Saturday jeans that Bruce _insists_ are "godawful, a blight upon humanity and my eyesight", and Clark's pretty sure the cat's been sleeping in their bed when they're out. He's at the Manor practically all the time, returning in between work and investigations, checking in on whatever destruction the kids have managed to create, catching a quick kiss from Bruce as he tinkers with something in the Cave, utterly and adorably distracted.

It hits him then. Those moments.

_This is my life now._

* * *

The next week, he carefully researches wedding bands. A month after that, the tiny black box arrives at his desk. His breath catches as he realizes the implications of what he's holding in his hands.

"Lois," he says, a slight tremor in his voice. Her head bobs up, still scribbling something on her notebook. "Lo, I need...help."

Her pen comes to a screeching halt. A blur of red hair rolls into his cubicle, alarmed.

"Um," she says eloquently, staring at the box in his hands. "No offense, Smallville, but I'm pretty sure our working relationship couldn't handle marriage. Even for tax reasons."

" _Lois,_ " Clark hisses, and suddenly he's _panicking._ His hands begin to tremble again, his skin turning clammy. "I-I need to..."

"Whoah, hey, take it easy, are you-"

Suddenly his head is between his legs, a hand rubbing his back in slow circles. There's a trashcan just below his face, thankfully empty.

"You back with us?"

He takes Lois' proffered hand, sitting up in the chair. "What happened?"

"Your eyes got really wide and then you started breathing really quickly," she frowns at him, a quick purse of her lips, "I think you had a panic attack."

Clark ignores that last comment, brushing off his shirt as he looks around the office, praying nobody else had seen them. Panic races through him again as he realizes his hands are empty. "Where's the box-"

"Right here," Lois presses it into his hand, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, you insisted I hold onto it while you freaked out. I think that makes me Best Man at the wedding, right?"

" _Lois_ ," he chokes out, putting his head between his legs again as the dizziness returns. His stomach grumbles, which is novel, considering he hasn't thrown up in _years_. "I'm proposing."

"Yeah, so? How hard can it be?"

Oh yeah, that's definitely the mini taquitos from lunch threatening to make a repeat appearance, "I'm proposing to _Bruce_."

"Want my advice?" Lois twirls her pencil, returning to her cubicle will a well-time push of her heels. "Just do it. Better to just get it over with."

"Lois-"

" _Kent_!" White yells from his office, the sound somehow not lessened by the door in between them. Clark whips his head up so quickly, he nearly throws up right then and there. " _My office, now_!"

"Good luck," Lois says, saccharine-sweet, as he passes her. "You're gonna need it."

* * *

"So, I was thinking,"

Bruce grunts, sparks flying from whatever circuit board he's reassembling (read: _messing around with_ ).

Behind him, the boys are sparring in the Cave's smaller gym, Stephanie and Cass practicing rappelling above them on the rock wall.

It's been a crazy week-Bruce in and out of meetings for what seemed like months, taking breakfast, lunch, and dinner at the office. Clark had missed him, turning over in their bed and feeling nothing but empty silk in his arms.

Now, thank God, whatever project or merger had been so important was over-and Clark was 500% ready to fight whatever crappy gossip mag decided to write another 'expose' on Bruce Wayne's dysfunctionality as CEO. The man practically ran the Justice League on top of Wayne Enterprises, though he could never reveal that.

"Why don't we take a vacation? Get out of town for a little while, maybe relax?" the words nearly lodge in his throat. Thankfully Bruce is oblivious, squinting through his goggles at the offending piece of circuitry. "I know you just finished up that big project at WE."

Bruce grunts again, and it's a testament to how long they've been together that Clark immediately translates the noise in his head. _Sure, sounds like a good idea, give me more specifics._

"I don't know, maybe...next week?"

The goggles are removed with a sigh, the circuit board pushed to the side. Tired blue eyes find him, and Clark takes advantage of the moment for a quick kiss.

A soft press of lips to Bruce's jaw, and he can actually _feel_ the other man relax against him, sagging a little against his shoulder.

"I think it's a great idea," Bruce says quietly, "Where were you thinking?"

 _That gorgeous villa in the Riviera where you took us on our first date. We drank wine all night and it was perfect._ "Oh, I don't know. Why don't we go to Mexico?"

"Okay," Bruce says, smiling up at him as Clark runs a hand through his hair. "I'll clear my schedule. Just make sure wherever you choose has room for the kids."

 _Wait. Wait wait wait. No. No, this isn't_ -

"The kids?"

"Mhm," Bruce says, turning to watch Cass' progress up the rappel line. He misses the confusion on Clark's face. "Last time they almost kicked us out of the suite there, something about occupancy rules."

 _I was actually really hoping it could just be the two of us-_ Clark thinks, but he sees the way Bruce is listing a little in his seat, the clear lines of exhaustion across his face, and bites his tongue. "Sure. Great, I'll get right on that."

"I'm excited," Bruce mumbles into his shoulder, and _God,_ he's so adorable when he's like this, sleepy and still trying so hard to watch his kids, to make sure they see him observing. His eyes flutter closed a moment later. "Damian would love Tijuana. He has a fondness for palaces."

Clark waits a moment, then takes his chance. "Actually, I was maybe thinking we could go back to the Riviera."

There's a slight shift on his shoulder, and then Bruce's breathing deepens. He's fast asleep when Clark looks down, motionless against his chest.

"Great," Clark says to no one in particular. "That went well."

* * *

It isn't until they're actually at the airport, about to board the private jet, when it truly sinks in.

 _I don't know if I can actually do this,_ he thinks, watching Tim and Damian bicker as the jet refuels in front of them. Bruce is actually smiling next to him, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watches the boys. _Can I do this? Can I actually do this?_

"I gotta make a quick call," he tells Bruce, stepping away. Lois' phone is on speed dial, and she doesn't sound happy about it. "Lois-"

" _What_."

"I'm freaking out again," he swallows, "About the-you know."

"Jesus, Clark, it's ten in the morning!"

"So?"

"It's a _Sunday_!"

"Bruce invited his kids on our romantic vacation," the words burst from his mouth, "I don't think he realized it was going to be just the two of us. Now I have to figure out how to get him alone without it being weird and that might actually be impossible-"

"Clark. Shut the fuck up."

He bristles at her language, but shuts his mouth. A sigh echoes down the line.

"Look, this is what you're going to do." Lois' no-nonsense tone sets him at ease instantly, "You're going to settle in for a few days, and hang out with the family. On the third night or so, you tell Bruce, 'Hey, why don't we get a babysitter tonight? I kinda wanna have sex with you.' to which he'll obviously agree."

Clark chokes on his reply, flushing a little at her words. He opens his mouth to argue, only to be silenced.

"Then, take him to some nice restaurant. Drink some wine, even if you can't get drunk. Tell him something like, 'hey, the beach looks really pretty, why don't we go take a walk?'" she pauses, "And you better not fuck this part up. It's gotta be before the sun sets, okay? Nice big sunset-"

"Lois, I-"

"Shh, almost done," Clark regards the airstrip nervously, getting a strange look from Alfred. "Then you get to a nice part of the beach, get down on one knee, and tell him all that mushy stuff you're always thinking but would never say to Bruce Wayne's face, okay? All of it."

"That's...it?"

"Yep, he's definitely gonna say yes," Lois sounds confident, which is both alarming and reassuring. "If he doesn't, well...free vacation, I guess?"

"Okay…" Clark trails off as Bruce waves at him, the engines revving in the distance. "I gotta run."

"Go get 'em, tiger!"

"Please never say that to me again."

Lois hangs up with a burst of laughter. Clark pockets his phone, walking back over to Bruce.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Clark says, smoothing his shirt down over his belt. The ring is tucked away in its box, shoved surreptitiously into his underwear so Bruce wouldn't find it. "Ready to go?"

"I'm always ready." Bruce smirks at him, and Clark's anxiety falls away for a moment, on a rickety skygate at Gotham International. "You okay?" he asks softly, reaching a hand out.

Clark smiles, accepting the touch gladly. "Yeah. Let's get going."

"Bruce! BRUCE!" someone shrieks from inside the plane, "Damian just _took_ my _shoe_!"

Bruce's sigh is tangible. He looks at the plane, then to Clark. "Shall we?"

"Let's go."

* * *

The villa they'd stayed at is exactly the same-it even _smells_ the same, which sends a pang through Clark's heart. He sets his laptop and phone down on the front chair, moving to help Dick and Jason with their luggage as Bruce tips the driver.

_Who would have thought you'd be returning here like this, huh?_

He places his bag carefully in the master bedroom, making sure the ring is still buried deep within his laundry. Bruce's bag goes next to his, a subtle embroidered _W_ on the handle. Clark smiles to himself as he wanders into the main room, already feeling more relaxed.

"We're going to the beach," Dick says, his head popping into the small kitchen. Their rooms are just a few feet away, in the neighboring villa, with Alfred's rooms on the second floor. "You guys should come down in a few minutes."

Clark waves him off, promising to bring Alfred and Bruce with him. He stands in the doorway, watching as the teenagers run down to the beach in a flurry of towels. A pair of arms encircle his waist, startling him.

"How's it going?" Bruce murmurs into his neck, making him shiver. "You look...worried."

"I think Damian might be trying to strangle Tim with his towel," Clark says, trying to redirect and deflect. He squints for effect. "Oh yeah...definitely some strangulation going on down there."

Bruce sighs, the breath ruffling his hair. "Dick isn't intervening?"

"Nope."

"Jason?"

"He's helping with the strangling now, actually."

"Shit," Bruce releases him, and Clark already misses his touch, seconds later. "Guess we should go down there. Maybe change first."

"You just wanna see me in swim trunks."

Bruce's smile is innocent. His eyes are anything but.

* * *

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the sun, eventually dragging chairs down to the beach so Alfred can do his crossword in the shade. Clark is content to sit next to Bruce, watching the kids playfight and bodysurf in the brilliant blue waves.

In the secluded villa, they don't have to pretend. It leads to one too many all-out sparring matches, complete with dramatic flips and kicks that are easier on the soft sand. Cassandra and Dick's match even raises Bruce's eyebrows, chock full of backflips and intricate martial arts poses that Clark can't identify.

He dunks Jason and Damian a few times, taking advantage of his flight to take them far out over the ocean. Bruce doesn't even flinch as he lets them go, screaming, the implicit approval quelling any fears he has of overstepping.

Stephanie insists on being dropped, and gets her wish a moment later. She surfaces with a gasp, her hair plastered to her face.

" _BRUCE!_ " she yells, "COME TRY THIS!"

Clark turns to his boyfriend, getting narrowed eyes for his trouble. The other Waynes begin cheering him on as Bruce frowns.

"No, thanks. Perfectly happy to wa-"

In between seconds, Clark sweeps him out of his chair and into the air. They're thirty feet above the waves a heartbeat later, Bruce's fist pounding against his chest.

"Let me _go,_ you insufferable puppy-"

Clark grins and releases him, waving as the billionaire drops from his arms. Bruce, no amateur, rolls into a calculated dive, entering the water in perfect form.

Stephanie, Cass, and Dick clap from the beach, shouting scores over the roar of the waves. Nearby, Jason and Damian are playfighting in the waves, jumping over the crests in the shallows.

He flies down to Bruce's bobbing head a moment later, dropping into the water next to him. This far out, the people on the beach are barely visible, just a colorful speck against the horizon.

Bruce treads water easily, watching him.

Clark opens his mouth, thinking about Lois' words. About what she'd said about the right moment-private, with the sun setting behind them. Bruce was right there, his hair mussed by the waves, grinning at him. _Grinning_ at him. When was the last time Batman had smiled at someone?

He's about to really consider just _going_ for it, lack of rings be damned, when a muffled scream catches his ear. He turns towards the shore, alarmed.

" _-get up, idiot," Jason is saying, touching Damian's shoulder. The younger man groans, sitting up slowly in the surf. "I-okay, that bone is definitely not supposed to be sticking out like that-"_

"What is it?" Bruce turns as well, the smile dropping from his face. Clark listens, feeling the moment slip away, uncaring. "Clark."

"Damian," is all he says, grabbing Bruce in his arms. With a nod, they're off, screaming towards the shore faster than he would normally dare, Bruce holding onto him tightly.

* * *

Damian's arm is actually broken in two places, upon further examination. Said examiner is Clark, kneeling in the sand, still in his trunks. Damian holds excruciatingly still as he looks his arm up and down, concentrating intensely.

Alfred was already running for the medkit by the time they'd gotten Damian out of the water. The remaining batkids were circled around their younger brother, faces grave.

"Yeah, that's all I can see," Clark says, settling back on his heels. He looks up at Bruce, turning off his X-ray vision before it can make him dizzy. "They're both clean breaks. You could probably have Alfred set them. I can watch, see if everything settles right."

"He'll need morphine," Bruce says, mouth tight. He kneels next to Clark, taking Damian's free hand. "Does that sound alright to you, Damian? We can go to the hospital, this is still your choice."

"I don't need a _hospital,_ " Damian huffs, but his face is unusually pale. His grip on Bruce's hand tightens. "Pennyworth will be fine."

"Excellent," Alfred's voice breaks the tension. The older man places a large box next to Damian's feet, rolling his sleeves up. "I suppose now is a good enough time as any to mention I was once a medic in the Queen's army."

"How reassuring," Damian lays back, rolling his eyes like he couldn't care less. Clark, listening to his pounding heartbeat, disagrees quietly. "I will not require morphine."

Bruce makes a disbelieving noise next to him. "That isn't up for discussion."

"I don't _need_ it."

Alfred interrupts before Bruce can reply, holding up a hand. "If he says he doesn't require it...he may deal with the consequences."

"Damian, please," Bruce pushes Damian's hair back, uncharacteristically tactile with his youngest. "Take the morphine. You don't have to be brave for us. This will hurt. A _lot_."

Clark puts on what he hopes is a pleading expression. Dick bites his lip. Jason just rolls his eyes and pokes Damian in the ribs.

"Take the damn morphine, kid."

"Fine." Damian says curtly, "Give it to me, Pennyworth. I will take a half dose."

Bruce mutters something that sounds like Tibetan swear words under his breath, but relents. Alfred nods, filling the needle to a full dose.

Clark raises an eyebrow, turning to Bruce, but the other man is leaning over Damian. There is tension in every line of his body, a parental worry Clark can only try to understand. The needle goes unnoticed into Damian's right arm.

Alfred's expression remains perfectly blank. When Clark stares at him, incredulous, he gets the quirk of one brow, and nothing more. He places his hands above the first break, setting his jaw.

"You might feel a sharp pinch…"

* * *

Alfred plasters Damian's arm himself, binding it in a sling that takes a full half hour of convincing to wear. Bruce hovers the entire time, arms crossed; it's a pose he knows well from JL meetings-concern, the urge to micro-manage, and irritation all rolled up into one.

Bruce catches him staring more than once, offering him a weary half-smile with little behind it. Clark thinks back to that amazing moment in the water and bites his tongue, slightly bitter.

Dinner is brought in by an off-site catering service, a delicious blend of local fruits and fajita vegetables. Dick and Jason shovel down their food, excusing themselves immediately to go for a run on the beach. Cass and Stephanie take Damian back to his room, still a little high from the morphine, while Tim sits on the front patio with his tablet.

"Thank you for all your help with Damian today," Bruce was saying to Alfred in the kitchen. There's the sound of a cork popping, and then the clink of two glasses. Clark remains in the sitting room, trying and failing not to eavesdrop.

"Not a problem," Alfred replies, sounding like he genuinely means it. "I'm sure Master Damian is grateful we didn't have to make a trek out to a hospital now, hmm?"

"Obviously," Bruce is silent for a moment, mulling something over. "Do you remember when I broke my arm, out in the gardens?"

"Of course."

"Father set it himself," Bruce shakes his head, smiling slightly. "He gave me a bit more morphine than Damian, however. I couldn't stand for hours."

"I remember," Alfred's voice is fond, a soft resonance to his words that makes Clark smile. "That was a nasty break. I doubt I could have set it myself."

"Lucky he was home that day, I guess," Bruce says, and then there's a companionable pause. "Go relax. Isn't that what vacation is for?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't think the word _relax_ could ever go in the same sentence as _Wayne_ ," Alfred says, but he shuffles out of the kitchen a moment later. "Goodnight, Master Kent."

"For the last time, Alfred," he smiles at the older man, "Call me Clark."

The butler mutters something that sounds a lot like _over my dead body_ under his breath, stepping out onto the porch, towards his villa. Bruce joins him on the couch, throwing an arm behind him.

"I guess I have you to thank as well."

"You're doing a lot of thanking tonight," Clark turns to look at him, smiling slightly, "Sure you didn't strain something?"

"Ass," Bruce says, but Clark catches a flash of a smile as he ducks his head onto his shoulder. "Let's take the boat out tomorrow. We could go fishing or something."

Clark feels his heart beat a little bit faster, willing himself to calm down before his nerves give him away. "Yeah?"

"Mhm."

He traces his fingers down Bruce's neck, pressing down on his pulse. He senses the other man's breathing pick up slightly, heart rate accelerating.

"Remember the last time we were here?" he asks, pushing Bruce's hair back. He kisses slightly behind his ear, making the other man shiver slightly in his arms. "Our first real date."

"I remember," Bruce says, his voice carefully restrained. A hand drifts down to his belt, teasing. "Unfortunately, I'm exhausted."

"Yeah?"

"Utterly exhausted." Bruce blinks up at him, ridiculously innocent. "We should go to bed."

Clark scoops him up, getting a disgruntled _squawk_ out of the older man as he throws him onto their bed. He's got Bruce on his back in the blink of an eye, on all four above him.

"Still tired?"

Bruce's lazy smile is a gift.

"Not anymore."

* * *

Clark brings the rings for the boat ride tomorrow. He tells himself it's just in case, but that's a lie. It should be spur of the moment, and if he's spending the evening on Bruce's yacht, looking out at the sunset, there will definitely be a moment. _Moments._

Alfred entices the boys into coming with promises of deep-water fishing. Cass and Stephanie already have their own poles and equipment, mysteriously acquired, loading it on the yacht at dawn. Bruce watches the circus with an oversized mug of coffee, squinting at the sunrise.

"How'd you sleep?" Clark asks, because he can. Bruce grunts, shuffling closer to him to get out of the sun. "I swear, you really are a vampire."

Bruce grunts again, sounding vaguely amused. He's warm against Clark's chest, which, surprisingly, doesn't bother him.

They finish loading the boat a half hour later, and push off not long after that. Bruce is mostly awake by noon, and teaches Damian and Tim how to fish as Jason and Dick curse over their rods.

Cass and Steph catch twelve fish between them, which seems unusually high for what Clark can remember about deep water fishing. Damian throws a tantrum when his line comes up empty for the fifth time and gives up, stalking into the main cabin with his tablet.

Dick catches a small bluefin tuna and cheers for five minutes straight. Clark helps Jason (read: _x-rays the water until he sees fish_ ) catch a medium-sized mackerel an hour after that, while Bruce and Alfred sort through the dozen fish in the icebox, chatting about dinner.

The day goes by more quickly than he thought it would. Around four, just as the sun begins its descent into the ocean, Bruce turns the yacht around. As they head for shore, the kids disappear into their rooms, exhausted. Alfred drifts off to the control room, leaving them alone at the back deck.

The sun is a gorgeous orange, softening into pink as it nears the horizon. Clark throws an arm around Bruce's waist, drawing him towards the railing.

"You better not start quoting _Titanic_ at me," the billionaire says, crossing his arms. "For one, if anyone was going to be Leonardo Dicaprio, it would be me. Two, we're on the back of the boat, not the front."

"Caught red-handed," Clark says, smiling wide. He keeps his arms around Bruce, watching the water churn behind them.

The moment stretches out between them; he takes in a deep breath, steadying himself. Bruce is smiling up at him, oblivious to what's about to happen.

"Listen, I-"

He cuts off as the yacht jerks to a sudden halt in the water. The floor tips underneath their feet, listing to the left at a sickening angle.

Bruce almost goes flying overboard as water sloshes across the deck. He grabs onto the rail at the last second. Clark tightens his arms, pulling the other man close to him as the ship rocks in the water.

Alfred appears in the doorway a moment later, his quick breathing the only indication of danger. Clark looks him over for fractures immediately, concerned.

"I'm afraid we just lost the main engine, sir."

"Are the kids alright?" Bruce asks Clark, who concentrates, looking at the cabins.

"They're fine."

En masse, they creep towards the rail and look down at the engine compartment. Black smoke trickles up, burning the back of his throat as he breathes in. X-ray doesn't show him anything he can understand, except a silent motor within the engine, surrounded by water.

"Well," Bruce puts his hands on his hips, then looks up at him. "After we figure this out, I have a very stern email or two to write to my accountant."

"Is there any way to restart the engine somehow?" Clark asks Alfred, who shakes his head.

"They're both offline completely. I have no clue where to begin, beyond towing it to shore."

Clark looks at Bruce pointedly, who frowns.

"You don't have to do that. We can get a tow."

"It'll be midnight before we get back," Clark says, "Look, no one will see me. I'll stick down by the motor until we get closer to shore. Then you can call for a tow."

Bruce stares at him for a long moment, seeming to realize he wouldn't budge. He turns to Alfred.

"Make sure everyone's settled. Tell them to stay in their beds until we get to shore. I don't want them falling and breaking something."

"Of course, sir."

Clark forces a smile as Bruce finds a radio and begins calling for a tow in fluid Spanish. The sun is almost completely set now, their spot by the rail cold and grey. He bites his tongue and begins unbuttoning his shirt with a sigh.

* * *

They make it home late. Clark is dripping wet and dead tired, leaning on Bruce as they climb the stairs to the villa. The kids run off in search of dinner, Alfred walking slowly behind them.

Bruce puts him into their bed with little fuss, stretching out beside him. For a moment, they just lie there together, silent.

"Well, that kinda sucked."

Bruce snorts. "No shit."

"I'm gonna go to sleep now."

"Sounds like a plan to me."

Bruce says something else, far above him, but it's lost as his eyes close, falling asleep instantly.

* * *

"-and then Damian broke his arm, which really sucked, because I was really about to do it there in the water. And then I tried yesterday, I really did, because the yacht was so romantic and we had the sunset just like you said. Except the yacht broke down _right_ before I was about to do it and I kinda had to push it back to shore. So third time's the charm, right?"

He can actually hear Lois roll her eyes down the phone line, which he used to think was impressive back in his intern days. "Smallville. This sounds like a shitty rom-com script. You know that, right?"

"Doesn't matter," Clark looks around the beach furtively, praying Bruce was still asleep inside. "I'm doing it today. It's happening no matter what. I don't care what happens at this point. I am getting him alone, and I am proposing."

Lois is silent for a moment. "You sound...determined."

"You say determined, but I hear 'crazy', you know that, right?"

"Uh huh," static buzzes down the receiver briefly, muffled voices in the background. "Look, Smallville. I gotta go. Good luck, break a leg, and all that jazz."

"I-" the line goes dead, and Clark is left staring at his phone, mildly confused. "Alright. Guess that's your pep talk."

"Pep talk to propose to Bruce, you mean?"

Clark startles so badly he nearly falls over. Behind him, still in PJs, is Dick, watching him with a frown.

"I…..can explain," Clark clears his throat, desperately thinking for a way out. "I-"

"No need. I heard everything," Dick ducks his head briefly, "You're really gonna ask him, huh?"

For a moment, there's just the gentle rise and fall of the tide behind him. Clark sighs.

"Yes. I was going to, but this week has been...eventful."

"So you're going to try again tonight," Clark nods, which prompts another smile from the younger man. "I'm glad to hear that."

"You are?"

"Of course I am," Dick catches his eyes, looking older than he deserves to be for a moment. "I'll talk to the others, and make sure nobody bothers you tonight."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure," Dick says easily, sticking his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. "I think you guys would be really happy together. I don't want some shitty vacation to ruin that."

"I think most of the shitty part was my fault," Clark said, shaking his head. "I need to get better at planning these kinds of things."

"You'll have plenty of time," Dick says, inclining his head. "Sorry for listening in. I was about to go for a walk. See you later?"

"Yeah. Bye."

He watches as the younger man treks along the shoreline, hiking his pants up above his ankles so they don't get wet in the incoming tide. A strange sense of calm settles over him, leaving him transfixed by the shore.

_I think you guys would be really happy together._

Clark felt himself break into a small smile. With some effort, he pushed his feet into the sand and began the long climb back up to the villa.

* * *

The rest of the day went by quickly. By four, the Wayne children were thoroughly 'over' the vacation, glued to their phones and tablets, refusing to go outside. Clark had a feeling most of that was Dick's careful influence, but Bruce didn't look twice when he saw them huddled in front of the television.

He books them reservations at a local cantina on the beach, approximately three miles down the shore. It's a nice place with fresh fish and cold beer, and cute little cabanas by the waterline.

The walk there and back should be enough for what he was planning. _Would_ be enough.

Bruce hides it well, but he's just as relieved to get out of the house. They leave the kids in the responsible hands of Alfred, who joins them by the TV with a cup of tea. Just as the sun begins its descent, they head out.

Bruce is already tan, a mere three days in. The crow's feet at his eyes are a little more noticeable, giving him a healthy appearance that Clark adores. He's wearing a dark blue button down and khaki shorts, a slim watch at his wrist. Unremarkable, and anything but.

Clark's pocket burns with the secret kept in it. He positions his shirt over his waist, careful not to draw attention to the slight bulge of the box.

For a while, they walk hand in hand in silence, toeing through the water.

"This was fun," Bruce says a mile in, the sun edging his hair in red. He's perfect, and in that moment, Clark is speechless. "I'm glad we came down here."

"Me too," he says after a moment, forcing the words out. He wonders if Bruce can tell how nervous he is just then-could he see the sweat at his temples? Feel the thudding heartbeat in his hand? Hear the small catch in his voice? "Bruce."

"Yeah?"

"I wanted to ask you something." he says, reaching into his pocket.

"Anything," Bruce says with a small smile, and he's nearly blinded by it for a moment. His hand slips around the box, and he fumbles with it for a moment. "I-"

A shrill ringtone interrupts them. Bruce sighs and pulls his IPhone from his pocket.

"It's Dick."

Clark frowns, thinking about the younger man's earlier promise. He lets the box fall into his pocket, removing his hand. "You should probably, uh, answer it."

Bruce jabs at the screen, putting the phone to his ear. "Dick?"

" _-need to come back, Alfred just fainted and I think he's sick-_ "

Clark feels himself grow pale, turning off his superhearing with a blink. Bruce's face goes carefully blank as he listens to his son, nodding along. With a quick reply, he ends the call.

Without a word, Clark gathers him in his arms and flies them back, throat aching.

* * *

Alfred is put to bed in the master bedroom with a stern word from Bruce, a purpling bruise above his left eye. A quick hand to his forehead confirms what Clark suspects immediately-a fever, minimal dizziness, leading to his fall.

Dick sends him a deeply apologetic look as they walk in. Clark just nods, feeling more tired than he has any right to be. Worry is pounding through him, even though he knows Alfred is alright. _He was right to call; this is scary enough for adults._

Bruce cleans up the small bloodstain in the sitting room as Clark herds the kids to bed. By the time he has Alfred settled, Clark is back.

The two of them stand in the middle of the dark room, silent.

"Since Alfred's in our bed, I guess we can take the couch," Bruce says, sounding weary. "If you want a bed, you can take his."

"Couch looks big enough for both of us," Clark says, getting a half-hearted snort from the other man. "Hey, it's still bigger than the one in my apartment. Remember the time we tried to sleep on that one?"

Bruce shakes his head, collapsing onto the couch. He slings an arm across his face. "I take it back. This has been the most dysfunctional vacation ever."

Clark pushes down the twinge in his heart at that, joining him on the couch. He pushes Bruce to the side, managing to scoot in next to him. His hand hits his pocket almost by accident, brushing against the outline of the box.

 _It's now or never,_ a voice whispers in his ear, and it sounds a lot like Lois for some reason. _Go for it already._

"Bruce."

He gets a half-awake grunt, and realizes the other man is seconds away from falling asleep. With fumbling hands, he reaches into his pocket and grabs the damn box, pulling it out and opening it.

"Bruce."

"What. What is it."

"Wake up." Clark takes a deep breath. "Open your eyes."

He watches as Bruce's face scrunches up. A moment later, his eyes flutter open. "What's wrong?"

"I love you,." Clark says, holding the box out towards him. "So much. You moronic, obsessive man. I love your kids and your butler and all seventeen of Damian's pets. I love you so much, and I-" he breaks off, the panic threatening to overtake him. "I was trying to do this right, but everything kept getting in the way and-So, I guess this is me asking you to, uh. To marry me."

Bruce is frozen, staring at the two rings in the box. His eyes slide slowly from the metal, up to Clark's face.

"Maybe I phrased that wrong," Clark says, now very much beginning to panic. He tries one last time as Bruce continues to stare, throat tightening. "Would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

"Clark…" the name is spoken softly, "Kal…" Bruce puts a hand to his jaw, drawing him down to the couch, and he's ready for the rejection, for the hesitation that's bound to be coming. " _Yes_."

"I- _what_."

Bruce huffs, inches away from his face. His eyes are a brilliant blue in the low light. "I said _yes,_ you big blue idiot. Of course I'll marry you."

"Yes?"

"Are you deaf?"

Clark picks up Bruce, unable to resists, and pushes off the ground a little, doing a quick spiral in the small space of the sitting room. Bruce is laughing against his chest when he sets them down on the couch again, face pressed to his chest.

"Say it again," Clark demands, getting a pout in return. " _Please_."

"Fine…" Bruce rolls them over, so he's lying across Clark's chest. Their faces are inches apart, and Clark can't stop grinning. "Yes, you can have joint ownership of my kids, my house, my random grand-pets-"

Clark pokes him.

"-and yes," Bruce pauses, laughing breathlessly, his hands framing Clark's face. "I'll marry you. God knows why you'd tie yourself to someone like me, but I'd want nothing more."

Clark's never seen him like this, and the joy in his chest nearly burns through him as Bruce's words settle in his mind. He pulls the other man down into a fierce kiss, trying to communicate the feeling.

A moment later he has Bruce's shirt off, and the other man has a hand down the front of his pants. They're breathing heavily, arching against each other with cut-off moans, which is the excuse Clark uses for not hearing the patio door.

"Um."

He and Bruce freeze, awkwardly positioned on the couch. Across the room, by the entrance to the kitchen, is a very confused-looking Jason. He has his finger by the lightswitch, an empty glass in his other hand.

"I was just, uh…getting some water..." Jason swallows nervously, averting his eyes. "You know what, I'm sure Tim can make some out of saltwater, or something. I'm just gonna...go…."

The patio door closes with an awkward squeak. Jason tip toes off towards the other villa, cursing under his breath the whole way.

"Did that actually just happen," Clark asks Bruce, who was still frozen above him. "And, since we're on this topic, should we invest in therapy?"

"I'm sure he didn't really...see anything."

Clark cocks his head, listening. "He just told Tim he saw you 'molesting the alien on the couch again'."

"It's healthy for kids to talk about sex," Bruce says matter of factly, getting a snort from Clark. He moves his hand inside Clark's pants, getting a soft moan in return. "I don't exactly see you complaining."

"Bruce, I can't find my tablet!" a voice yells, distant. Clark groans, this time in irritation.

"Oh for Christ's sake," Bruce leaps up from the couch, stalking over to the door. With a pointed look out the glass, he locks the patio door. A moment later he was straddling Clark again, grinning darkly. "That should stop them for a few minutes."

"A flimsy patio door lock is going to stop your kids?"

"Right," Bruce says, looking at the door with a frown. "Maybe we should prop the couch against the door too."

"You're joking, right?" Clark asks as the other man begins kissing down his jaw, shuddering as teeth brush against his neck. "Please tell me you're joking."

"You're stalling."

"I'm savoring the moment."

"Well, your moment is going to be over in less than three minutes," Bruce raises an eyebrow, " _unless_ we find some other way to barricade the door. Then I can guarantee at least ten."

Clark begins laughing before he can stop himself, unable to believe he's holding this magnificent, idiotic man in his arms. He sets Bruce onto his feet, grinning wide.

"Let's find some chairs then, Marius."

Bruce smirks at him. "You know that makes you Cosette, right?"

"Yeah, yeah."

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Leave me a comment, and let me know what you thought! :)
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